


oh, Goddamnit!

by sidnihoudini



Category: Brand New
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-11
Updated: 2007-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that’s when Jesse Lacey steps out of the goddamned shadows, with a skateboard in one hand and a beanie hat folded between his teeth, grin framing that.</p><p>“Uh.”  John feels less than saucy.  “Hi.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh, Goddamnit!

1.

A drink in each hand, John raises his eyebrows along with his arms as he tries to ‘shortcut’ through the crowd. It’s when some chick wraps her arms around his waist and tries to get him to grind up against her that he realizes he’s taken the fucking scenic route. Trying to be chill is a hard thing to do as he yells “no! no thank you!” over the dumb electric-filler music playing – trying to be _chill_ is out the fucking window when he spills one of the drinks over her shoulder and gets jabbed in the chest by her gangly finger. And that’s before her fucking boyfriend steps out of the woodwork to have words (loud ones) over the soundtrack to what has officially become John’s Worst Night Ever (Since Yesterday Afternoon, At Least).

 

-

 

Because here’s what happened yesterday afternoon.

 

2.

John’s trying to shave off the goddamn shadow of the century when Michelle knocks on his front door, a potted plant against one hip and a pile of newspapers under her other, mostly-free arm. He spies her through the peep hole in his front door, her fish bowl head, bent down so all he really gets is a warped view of the back of her skull.

“Michelle,” He greets, unlocking and opening the door with half of his face still stubbly and covered in shaving cream.

And that’s when Jesse Lacey steps out of the goddamned shadows, with a skateboard in one hand and a beanie hat folded between his teeth, grin framing that.

“Uh.” John feels less than saucy. “Hi.”

Because:

Because, the last time he saw Jesse Lacey (and Jesse Lacey is the kind of person you call by both names when you’re thinking about The Last Time You Saw Him) John was fifteen and had just been shut out after coming all over Jesse’s parents best duvet cover. That was kind of a difficult summer for John.

“John,” Michelle grins again, stepping forward over the little threshold to hug him with the arm full of newspapers. This is alarming, considering his sister hasn’t hugged him like this for as long as he can remember, and without thinking about it, he accidentally shoots Jesse a horrified and wide-eyed look over Michelle’s shoulder. Jesse keeps half-smirking, but at least he takes the hat from his mouth and tugs it over his head. All John does is stumble back awkwardly when his sister lets go – he got shaving cream all over her shoulder. “You remember Jesse.”

With an awkward kind-of salute motion to his forehead, John nods past Michelle’s shoulder at Jesse, and then shoots his sister a concerned glare.

“So, uh...” John doesn’t know what else to do, so he gestures down to the newspaper and potted plant, then notices the trail of dirt littered throughout the hall corridor. He decides the best plan is to ignore Jesse entirely and look at his sister, so he scratches the back of his neck, raises his eyebrows, and asks, “What’s up?”

 

3\. 

John tries to take a step backwards, but the crowd converges behind him despite his valiant effort to get away from this chick’s scary ass boyfriend. Putting both his hands up, he tries to wiggle around the six fingers not gripping alcohol, and yell over the music, “I wasn’t, seriously – I, hey!”

Her boyfriend shoves him in the shoulder, and suddenly the entire shot of Bacardi in his left hand is flying through the air and splattering at least three people to his near right. John, in a noble display of dignity, throws both drinks on the floor, and sprints for higher ground.

Not stopping until he gets back to the booth he earlier deserted in search of booze, John slides into one of the seats, and accidentally knocks elbows with some guy he met an hour ago but doesn’t have enough balls to look in the eye yet. When John glances across the table, only to see his sister getting drunk with Jesse (Lacey), he immediately wishes he were Anywhere But Here.

“John,” Michelle laughs, and they’re _holding hands_ , albeit in a drunken-grabby style. John raises his eyebrows and crosses both arms over his chest. “John, isn’t this _great_?”

Yeah, it’s awesome.

 

4.

“He’s in a band,” Michelle whispers at his face, too close to be comfortable from where she’s got him cornered up against the sink in his little ensuite kitchen. His apartment is so small he can look over her shoulder and see Jesse wandering around his living room, hands in his pockets unless he’s touching one of John’s fucking _non-touchable_ collectibles.

John glances at his sister’s face, then back to Jesse.

“Lots of people are in bands,” John tells her distractedly, before she pinches him so hard he cringes. He smacks her hands away so he can rub at the sting, and raises his eyebrows in what he hopes is an superior manner. “And don’t try to fuck him just to get background singer status or something.” 

Michelle rolls her eyes, and looks back over her shoulder. John’s looking at him too, and neither of them bother to look away until Jesse glances over at them. Michelle whips her head back and almost smashes their noses together. John manages a half-wave in Jesse’s direction.

“I’m not going to fuck him,” Michelle whispers to John’s chest, leaning in closer. Jesse goes back to reading John’s TV Guide. “He’s gay, anyway.”

Feeling a little seasick, John feigns ignorance. “Oh yeah? How do you know that?”

Michelle smirks.

“He told me about that time he jerked you off during summer vacation. I’m just going on faith.”

 

5\. 

Jesse Lacey wants to be Morrissey. Or, at least the closest thing to an exceptional Smiths cover band. 

John Nolan wants a fucking Bacardi refill. He wasted the two free drink tickets the promoter was throwing around to “friends of Brand New” earlier, and goddamnit, _he wouldn’t have had to pay for those._

Spinning around on one of the bar stools, he watches the floor until he gets dizzy, or maybe he’s just getting dizzy from Jesse’s so-insistent voice drowning the little dive bar just off of Sunrise. Michelle’s standing beside one of the amps side-stage, and they’d only let three guests up there, so it’s her and two of the other guys girlfriends. John hates remembering names.

“Fuck, who does this guy think he is?” The bartender asks someone, and when John focuses in on his sun-stained face instead of watching his hand work a rag over the bar counter, he realizes he’s talking to him. “The New Morrissey Express?”

John stops spinning and shrugs, glancing over his shoulder. The few working stage lights make Jesse’s hair blue.

“He’s alright,” John tells the bartender, scraping his feet over the floor.

The bartender snort-laughs, and wipes a few empty peanut shells onto the floor. “Yeah. Sure.”

 

6.

The thing is, Jesse is good. Really good, so good that Michelle grins and crosses fingers over her chest when she hears his voice for the first time since the dozen combined years of high school that they all essentially spent together. He’s busking with an acoustic guitar and half-empty coffee cup just outside of the Long Island Bus Depot when she sees him, weighed down with a potted plant that her mother’s making her ‘babysit’ during a week-long vocational absence.

She puts her best sweet-slow smile on and saunters up, standing in front of the Second Bean coffee cup filled with quarters and loose change. 

Jesse half-grins at her, and he remembers her right away, but doesn’t say so until the last chords of some deliberately golden song fades out and over the old cobblestone ground and ivy-covered buildings.

“I haven’t seen you,” Jesse starts, kneeling down to empty the coffee cup. He looks up at her, squinting from the sun in his eyes. “Since last summer.”

Michelle gets dirt underneath her fingernails as she switches the pot from one hand to the other, but lets her smile twitch at the corners anyway.

“I remember,” She says, and the rest is (pretty much) history.

 

7\. 

John doesn’t know how it happens. He’s spent the entire evening trying to avoid the situation, yet somehow he finds himself wound up with Jesse Lacey, alone and, when they both look into the mirror at the same time and catch each other’s gaze, uncomfortable.

“So,” John says, shaking the water off of his hands, then reaching for a paper towel. 

Jesse looks amused, but appeases John by repeating, “So.”

“Good show,” John adds, crunching the paper towel up after his hands are exclusively dry. Jesse shakes his hands and wipes the excess of on the thighs of his jeans.

 _The thighs of his jeans!_ John’s head screams at him, in this bizarre joker voice.

“I know.” Jesse stares at John some more in the mirror.

John clears his throat.

 

8.

Michelle has been able to rope John into shit he doesn’t really want to do since they were kids. She’s got some kind of gift for it, these big dumb puppy dog eyes and _what if I get hassled, John, what happens if some dude slips a sedative into my drink, John?_

“Fine, I’ll go! Jesus,” He finally hisses, tossing his razor against the back of the sink as he reaches for a towel to wipe the rest of the shaving cream on his face off with. He looks at her in the mirror critically. “Why’s it such a big deal, anyways?”

Spraying some of the cologne his mother bought him for Christmas last year into the air, she sniffs it, makes a face, and sets the bottle back down onto the counter. Backwards, and in a puddle of sink water.

“It’s _not_ a big deal,” She tells him, pausing mid-reasoning to listen as Jesse’s phone rings somewhere in the living room. John frowns at his reflection, wipes the water drips from his neck, and tries to flatten down the front of his hair. She leans in just as he gets an awkward cowlick to lay flat. “Believe me. It’s Jesse’s idea, not mine.”

She grins at him in the mirror when he looks at her, horrified, and reaches up to ruffle his hair.

“What,” He starts to say, until Jesse pokes his head through the door frame and raises his eyebrows.

“We have to go,” Jesse says, mainly looking at Michelle. John’s head is still stuck on _Jesse wants you at his gig, sigh, I know John, it’s a difficult thing to – Jesse wants you at his gig, sigh, I know John, it’s a..._ “I have sound check in half an hour.”

Michelle smiles that dumb smile she pulls out when she knows she can use boys to get what she wants, and nods.

“Sure,” She tells Jesse, then turns to John, reaching down to grip his hand and let go just as quick. “See you there tonight, right?”

Unable to think of a good lie on the spot, he nods and finally gives up. “For sure.”

 

9.

John finds himself in the corner of a toilet stall with Jesse’s still sink-wet hands up the front of his shirt pretty soon after ‘I know.’ Which is, well, it’s bewildering, really, because the last thing John remembers before Jesse making out with him, is fidgeting with his glasses since he really couldn’t figure out what else to say.

“I remembered you as soon as I saw her,” Jesse grins against the side of John’s jaw. John tries to push his hips out of the plumbing hanging all over the bathroom wall, and holds onto the back of Jesse’s neck for good measure.

John has no idea what he’s talking about. “Who?”

“Michelle,” Jesse whispers, just before they kiss again, and it’s alarming. Not the sex or the open mouths, those are fine. 

“Can we not talk about my sister,” John manages, knocking his head back against the rough tiles. 

Laughing against John’s cheekbone, Jesse mouths, “Sure.”

 

10.

Fucking, Michelle.

Two days after the show on Sunrise, John is sitting in some cheesy delicatessen two blocks from his house, with Michelle across from him. She’s ordered them both some weird cheddar-bun type thing, despite John’s protests of not being hungry (seriously, no, Michelle, it’s – ).

“Here.” She knives some butter onto his bun, and haphazardly spreads it around. “They’re so good. Taste it.”

John makes a face and yawns. “Yeah.”

“You look like a zombie, by the way,” She tells him, taking a gigantic bite out of her ‘breakfast.’ A quiet pause, but only because Michelle is either chewing or swallowing. John yawns into the back of his hand again, Michelle clears her throat by stealing the remainder of John’s orange juice. “So are you going to the show tonight?”

John starts to pick at his plate. “What show?”

“Brand New.” Michelle gestures to the waitress for another round of juice. Apparently they know each other or something, all John knows is they’re getting a half-priced breakfast at the ritziest cafe this side of Sunrise. “Don’t tell me you’re _not_ going.”

“Fuck, Michelle. I have work tomorrow.” He twists the beanie around on his head for no reason. “I’m not sleeping enough as it is.”

Rolling her eyes, Michelle opens another little travel-sized butter bar. “Blah, blah. So are you going?”

John blinks twice. She stares back.

“Probably.”

 

11\. 

John watches the show from the side of the stage that night, checking his text messages halfway through some song that kind of has a catchy title.

_Messages: 1 New  
View Message?  
Yes_

_Sent: 07-13-07 00:23:14  
From: Nolan, Michelle  
Received: 07-13-07 00:24:54_

_sorry, can’t make it tonight. something came up. say hi to jess. –m._

“That bitch,” John grumbles into the air, thick with bass lines and deafening reverb. Then, in a softer, more condescending tone, “ _Jess_.”

He makes a face just as Jesse glances over at him, mid-chorus and leering ego at the (albeit small) crowd.

 

12.

“Does he speak?” Vinnie laughs after the show, wiping off his face with the outside of his sweaty t-shirt.

Jesse and John are in one of the corners backstage, and Jesse’s laughing but John’s only scratching the back of his head.

Brian looks over his shoulder, and opens the bag of chips earlier smuggled from the bar.

“Maybe,” He shrugs.

 

13.

Jesse’s back to busking the day after that, hanging around the downtown core and trying his best to work the ATM outside the bank.

So when John walks up with his hands in his pockets, it’s kind of a surprise.

“I thought you were working today,” Jesse grins, even though it looks like kind of a half-frown from the sun. He’s got Nolan déjà-vu as he drops one hand from his guitar to shield his eyes from the sun.

John’s wearing these dumb looking plastic aviator glasses, so he just sticks his hands deeper in his pockets and throws his hips out.

“Yeah, I was,” He nods, pants sliding down from the pressure of the clenched fists in his pockets. “I’m on my break, I heard you two streets over.”

“Ah.” Frankly, Jesse is getting tired of empty conversation with this kid.

John takes one hand out of his pockets to pull the sunglasses off of his face. He looks different without frames on his face, and squints more than Jesse does when the sun gets in his eyes.

“I’m trying to make this as painless as possible,” John says, kind of apprehensively half-grinning. Jesse’s fingers brush against his guitar strings and make this funny reverberation against the brick wall he’s standing in front of.

When John doesn’t continue with this ‘painless’ idea, Jesse nods vacantly. “Okay...”

“Do you want to go out sometime?” John asks this question with a weird high pitch to his voice, a pinch in his face, and a hand twisting the hair at the back of his head. Kind of like he’s in agony, so the painless idea apparently didn’t work out. “Like, to something that isn’t a show?”

Laughing, Jesse threads his fingers over the strings again, and this time it isn’t accidental.

“Sure,” He nods, grinning still, as John smiles back at him and slides the aviator frames back onto his face.


End file.
